


cat and mouse for a month (or two or three)

by thelilacfield



Series: there is no world where i am not yours [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: She didn’t mean for it to happen the first time. But she was high on the lights in her eyes and the scream of the crowd. And when he appeared in the doorway of her dressing room something in her made her sling an arm around his neck and kiss him.
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Series: there is no world where i am not yours [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859725
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	cat and mouse for a month (or two or three)

**A/N:** Okay so...I know I abandoned AU-gust. In my defence, I work in food service in the UK and Eat Out To Help Out happened. But in the spirit of trying to post many consecutive days of fic, may I present the AU-dvent calendar! Some fics are finishing prompts I didn't get to for AU-gust, and some are my own ideas that have not been finished. Hopefully we can all spend December posting and reading everything we can to speed up the wait for WandaVision!

This fic was inspired by the rock band prompt from AU-gust. I'm on Tumblr and Twitter @mximoffromanoff if anybody wants to chat about all things scarletvision! Enjoy my first day of AU-dvent, and please let me know with a comment if you do :)

* * *

She didn't mean for it to happen the first time. But she was high on the lights in her eyes and the scream of the crowd, her fingers cramping from so long spent on the strings of her guitar, hairspray crackling in her ponytail and her fishnets laddered where she caught them on a loose nail in a corner of the backstage. And when he appeared in the doorway of her dressing room, all blonde hair in blue eyes and the rolled up sleeves of his sweater, something in her made her sling an arm around his neck and kiss him.

And it wasn't supposed to happen the second time. But he lingered in her dressing room when he came to collect her guitar, he looked at her with something hopeful brightening his eyes, and when she curled herself around him and their lips met he whispered her name as her fingers found the buttons of his shirt. When they peeled themselves apart, her lipstick smeared all over his face and left in red stains on his neck, it had been so long that Natasha was waiting outside the venue impatiently tapping the pointed toe of her boot, and remarked, "Your hair looks like shit, stop headbanging during Nebula's solos."

So it goes on like that. For every night of the tour, every night she stands on a stage and listens to a crowd scream her name, every night that she lets the music fill her up and sing through her blood, every night she watches her dream grow ever closer with her three best friends beside her, she waits in her dressing room for him to come. Waits for the three gentle knocks, that softly-accented breath of, "Wanda?" She waits to turn to him with a silken smile and opens her arms to him.

He kisses her first, his fingers set beneath her chin to lift her face to his, as she curls her fingertips into the front of his sweater. Tonight's soft, sweet-scent cashmere is a pale green. It suits him. At least from what she sees before she slides her hands beneath it and finally breaks the initial kiss to pull it over his head. Then she smiles up into his eyes and breathes, "Hi."

"You were amazing tonight," he says, and she grins. She kisses him again, the kiss that goes on and on until she's backed up against her dressing table, both of them tangled in their clothes, his mouth on her neck and her hands in his hair. Her name on his lips pressed against her ear, her skirt pushed up around her waist, her nails scratching the back of his neck when they press together.

She stays sitting on her vanity when they're done, watching him put himself back together, smirking at the way the hair at the back of his head is sticking straight up from her fingers. Her hair can't look much better, and her shoes are lying across the room, and when she turns and looks at herself in the mirror her make-up is smeared everywhere, her braids unravelling, and her lips swollen with kissing.

"Here." Vision is holding out her packet of make-up wipes, her neatly-folded pile of clothes that aren't costume, and when she's cleaned herself up he smiles at her in the mirror and softly kisses the top of her head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

There's a cold breeze blowing up the streets when she steps out of the back entrance. Music is playing from inside the venue, the soundtrack of the clean-up crew and equipment team, and she catches a short glimpse of Vision supervising. His grey coat stretching perfectly over his shoulders, his clever hands pale in the fluorescent lights, and she smiles slightly before she walks around the building to the waiting car.

"Fucking _finally_ ," Natasha says, lifting herself away from leaning on the car. "Christ, how long does it take to take the face off and change? How are you always so _long_?"

"I, um...I steam my throat," she says, trying to stop herself from self-consciously reaching up to adjust the crimson scarf wrapped around her neck. There shouldn't be any hickies on her neck. "Every night."

"You're not even our fucking _singer_ \- you know what, never mind." Natasha climbs into the car and Wanda slinks into the backseat.

"How come you get so cranky after performances?" she teases lightly, and Natasha rolls her eyes. "Better get you back to the hotel for your nap, huh?"

"I'm making Nebs wait for you tomorrow night," she snaps, and Wanda leans back in the seat of the car, smiling to herself.

* * *

"'Though Hex may be on their first tour, it is the most electrified room I have been in for quite some time. All four members of the band are credited as songwriters, and those lyrics are presented in the perfect package. Natasha Romanoff's gorgeous smoky voice is perfect for lyrics about sex and loss and wanting what you can't have. Gamora Hayes on keys is assured and utterly unapologetic about her remarkable talent. Nebula MacMillan on drums has even her own bandmates dancing to her solos. Wanda Maximoff on guitar keeps every person in the room moving to every titillating beat. I cannot wait to see what this quartet of talented ladies do next'!" Gamora raises her coffee, tossing her phone onto the table, and announces, "I'll drink to that."

"I'm proud of you, baby," Peter says, and leans across the couch they're sharing to kiss his girlfriend. Wanda looks up from her phone to exchange an eye roll with Natasha, and Nebula politely kicks Peter in the shin until he pulls out of the kiss and says, "And, uh, obviously the rest of you."

"I think you're all amazing," Mantis gushes, and Nebula grins and tugs her girlfriend into her side, kissing her cheek until there's a soft pink in her face.

And then _Natasha_ reaches for her phone and answers, "Hi, Bruce. Aren't you at work, honey? Oh, you saw the article?" and Wanda is left the only one not talking to her significant other. Because she doesn't have one. And she desperately wishes that it wouldn't be frowned upon by their tour manager for her to ask the hotel staff to spike her coffee with whiskey.

"So we're all going for dinner after the show tonight, right?" she pipes up, distracting her three bandmates from their relationships. "Celebrate the penultimate stop?"

"Depends," Nebula says. "You gonna be out on time tonight? Or an hour after the rest of us?"

"I know you've got the longest hair, but you can't possibly be giving yourself a blowout every single night," Gamora says, and Peter is smirking at his girlfriend's jokes, and Wanda is glaring at him.

"She's not," Natasha says, instantly hardened again from the way she melts when Bruce calls. "Haven't you ever noticed how shit her hair looks when she leaves?"

Laughter explodes over their little table, and Wanda takes a resentful sip of her black coffee. "Well I have to make my own fun, don't I?" she says. "Since you're all fucking domesticated and adorable."

"Don't be jealous, sweetie," Natasha says, uncrossing her legs and tossing her hair with a smirk on her painted lips. "Domestication is waiting out there for you."

"Maybe closer than you think," Nebula says, so sweet it's almost acerbic, and Wanda squints at her bandmates before she returns to her coffee.

She understands a little more later. When they perform one of their softer songs, words about love and future and golden joy. And then Gamora steps out the way, her usual cool mask slipping away into a smile when Nebula steps up to the microphone and says, "Thank you for coming out to see our little show tonight. Hopefully what I'm about to do makes it worth it. Mantis, hon, will you come up here?"

And Wanda wonders if she was the only one who didn't know when Nebula drops to one knee, and Mantis' hand flies to her mouth, delicate green skirt floating around her knees. Natasha and Gamora are beaming, and Peter whoops from backstage, and the cheering of the crowd is so loud it almost swallows up Nebula's, "Will you marry me?"

But the crowd mercifully falls silent to hear Mantis half-gasped, " _Yes_!" The whole room erupts in cheers as the ring slides home onto her finger, and Wanda forces herself into a smile. She's happy for them. She is. It doesn't sting in the slightest to be getting left behind in that inevitable race towards the altar. Towards the happy ever after.

When Vision comes knocking on her dressing room door, she lets him in already changed out of her stage clothes. He's the same as ever, hair falling in his eyes and another pastel sweater, today a soft spring yellow, and he kisses her cheek sweetly. Then he pulls back, staring at her, and says, "You've changed already."

"Yeah," she says, all monotone and quiet and not herself. "My, uh...my feet hurt."

"You look pretty," he says softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. He leans down to kiss her then, but pulls away quickly, eyes searching her face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she says, and he gazes at her for a moment longer. "I just..." She sighs, unfolds her crossed legs, and asks, "Do you ever feel like you're so far behind everyone else in the race you can't even see the finish line?"

"You're winning the race," he says gently. "You're an amazing performer. Your first tour is almost over. They'll be lined up in the streets for you when this is over."

"Not career wise," she says. " _Life_ wise. You know, houses, weddings, babies. I'm watching everyone else get further ahead." She sighs and leans back in her chair, the weight of his concerned gaze on her. "Nebs just got engaged in front of all those people. Nat's married to the guy she met in her very first month of college. And Gamora...well, I wouldn't exactly consider Peter the marrying type, but at least she's got him, and he's totally devoted to her. And where am I? Fucking single."

"You're single?"

Her gaze slants back to Vision, the sudden guardedness in his eyes, the soft light draining from his handsome face. She sits up a little straighter in her chair, noticing the minute way he moves away from her. "Obviously," she says. "You think I had some boyfriend or girlfriend back home and I'm still sleeping with you? I'm not that girl."

"No, I...I thought that you and I...that we..." He gulps and runs a hand through his hair and finally says, "I thought there was something going on between us. I didn't know that you...you still considered yourself single."

"Oh...Vizh, I-"

"It's alright," he says, quiet and bruised and sending something sharp and aching into her chest. "I should...go. The crew keep complaining about being held up because I'm always late."

"Wait-"

"You should get some rest," he says, and there's something hard and nameless building in his chest, something choking back everything she wants to say, restraining her to sad eyes and half-words. "So I...I won't drop by tomorrow. I'll see you to collect your equipment."

"But-"

"Goodnight, Ms. Maximoff." And that's the final sting, the last straw. He hasn't called her by her last name since the first day they met, since she insisted he call her Wanda, since she looked at him for the first time and desire sparked hot in the pit of her stomach.

She sits in her dressing room alone, silent and sad. Trying to put her feelings into words, the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, the way every inch of this room is covered in memories of him, of his laugh and his smile and his hands on her. She leaves earlier than usual, back to the quiet of her hotel room and the lonely king-size bed.

* * *

Breakfast on the day of their last show is a strange affair. The tense crackle of nervous energy hangs heavy on the air, and both Gamora and Nebula disappear with their significant others, citing a need for fresh air. They leave Wanda sitting with her black coffee pressed to her chest and an article recommending Christmas presents for friends open in front of her, silence between her and Natasha. Until the redhead lifts her gaze and says, "You know we all know you're sleeping with Vision, right?"

And she's grateful that she's wearing black, because she immediately chokes on a very hot sip of coffee and sprays it down herself. "I-"

"You've been sleeping with him since the first night of the tour," Natasha says simply, unwinding the history of her strange half-relationship with Vision in a single sentence. "That's why you're always late out of the venues. That's why you've been looking so damn cheerful. And, presumably, you've had an argument. So you've been a mopey little shit and you think I don't know about those song lyrics you wrote."

"I..." There's no point trying to defend herself or lie her way out of the awkwardness. So she rolls over and accepts it. "I complained to him about being single. And he...he seemed surprised. He thought that we were...I don't know, a _thing_."

"Did you ever tell him you were?" Natasha asks, and she shakes her head. "Did you tell him you weren't?" Another shake. "Oh my God, _Wanda_. You're supposed to do this complicated 'we're not in a relationship but we are but we're not' thing in _college_. You're too old for this shit, and I used up all of my sympathy quota for this trope on Gamora and Quill."

"I didn't mean to start sleeping with him-"

"So he tripped and fell directly into your boobs?" she asks, and Wanda flushes, returning her eyes to the greasy crumbs of her apricot croissant. "Come _on_ , you've been around the block a few times. Tell the poor little puppy boy you like him."

"But I-"

"Don't try to hit me with the 'I don't _like him_ like him' either, you clearly do," she says. "He makes you all smiley and soft and smug. You wrote a song about him - and it's pretty good, by the way. We can perform it tonight. Something new."

And twelve hours later, she's standing on the stage singing her own words. Her fingers on her guitar strings and her mouth at the microphone, deep red dress swinging around her while she sings about missed opportunities and confused hearts and hope that things might work out. The crowds are cheering and she can feel the weight of the eyes in the darkness of the wings on her. If she looks back, she's sure she'll see the summer-sky blue of Vision's eyes piercing through the shadows, but she won't let herself. She doesn't want to know whether she'll find his arms open to welcome her in or closed against her.

All too quickly, it's all over. Nebula is thanking the audience for coming out and they're hugging and crying and cheering. And only then does she find Vision in the congratulatory crowd surrounding them, push her way past beaming tour staff and grab him by the hand to drag him into an empty corridor. Then she pushes her hair behind one ear and nervously asks, "So...what did you think of the new song?"

"Do you care what I think?" he asks, all hollow sadness that puts a lump in her throat.

"Yes," she says softly. "I _really_ care. Because I wrote it for you, and I _really_ care about you, and I'm sorry I let the misunderstanding come between us. I didn't consider us to be in a relationship, but I would like us to be more than just sleeping together. I meant every word of that song. So...what did you think?"

When he looks up at her again, there's a light in his eyes, and a slow smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "What did I think?" he asks, and she nods. "I think that my girlfriend is a very talented songwriter."

"Girlfriend?" she asks softly.

A flush creeps up brightly into his face and he ducks his head. "I mean...only if you want..."

"I want," she says, and smiles a promise up into his eyes.


End file.
